Sounds of the Night
by Ryo-girl
Summary: What was going through Sam's mind the night Bee was captured?


Title: Sounds of the Night

Rating: PG (language)

_A/N: Watching this particular scene from the movie tore my heart out, so I had to write it._

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__We should have known they would have back-up, _is Sam's first thought when he saw the team of black SUVs heading straight towards them. _I mean, seriously, secret government agency, don't they always have back-up?_

And he's a little worried, but not too much, because he's seen what Bee can do – seen that little yellow Camaro take out that huge, hulking police car-thing and come out with barely a scuff. So why should he worry about a bunch of humans in perfectly ordinary cars?

Now, crouching under that bridge on Optimus, trying to hold on to metal that was so, so slippery, he realizes he should have _known_. Suddenly, he realizes that he could very well die tonight, without knowing where his parents or his dog are, without making sure that Bee's safe, without making sure the glasses stay out of Decipticon hands.

If he dies tonight, he'll never know if the Earth survives this coming battle.

For a moment, he imagines he can hear the familiar squeal of tires on pavement, the deep, urgent purr of an engine he'd recognize anywhere. For a brief moment, he's sure he hears Bee racing towards him.

Before he can even turn to look, Mikaela is plunging, and so is he, and it's all he can do to hold on. He doesn't feel the sudden wrench of his shoulder, or the shock of pain that goes up his wrist, he just holds on tightly, to her and Optimus, and that bad feeling comes rushing back.

He hears Mikaela's frightened voice, begging him, _"Sam, please, I'm slipping –" _and then the familiar engine-sound again, the one that resonates deep in his bones, and then sweat-soaked fingers slip and they're plunging _down, down –_

It's not the concrete he hits, it's the hard steel of Optimus, trying desperately to save him, but it doesn't do any good, he's falling again –

And then Bee's there, huge metal hands amazingly careful as Bee catches him. There's a sound he's come to associate with Bee – a high-pitched, alien sound that's oddly gentle and compelling – and then they're sliding, sparks flying up from the friction, and Sam thinks, absurdly, _Bee's going to need a new paint job._

And then they stop. They're not moving, not anymore, and Bee's putting them back on their feet, and they're _not dead_. Bee's looking at them, those blue, blue optics sparking, and even though he can't speak properly Sam can tell he's relieved.

But then there's the helicopter, and the SUVs, and he's begging, _"No, stop –" _and Bee's in front of them, crouched, hands out protectively. That's when the hook shoots out, latching onto his arm, and Bee's suddenly dragged away, making a distressed noise deep in his throat that tears at Sam's insides. Then there's more hooks, and they're just _wrangling him _like he's some sort of _animal_ –

And when they jerk and Bee falls, Bee turns to Sam, that horrible, soul-shattering noise rising again, and he's telling them, _"No, stop!" _But they don't listen, they're on him in a second, forcing him down, just like Bee, and all Sam can do now is watch, watch them pull and yank and try to tear.

He tries again, _"Look, he's not fighting back!" _But they don't listen, not at all, and he can't understand _why_, aren't they supposed to _know _about the Autobots, how can they _treat them_ like this?

And he can see them firing something, something white and foggy at Bee, and Sam couldn't even _see him _anymore.

"_STOP HURTING HIM!" _he hears himself scream as if he was far away; he doesn't feel them dragging him away, all he could see was _Bee_, on the ground, trying desperately to rise, and, for a split second, their eyes meet, brown on optic-blue, and Bee is reaching out –

_You're hurting him, you're _hurting him – _can't you hear him crying out?_

And then _they _yank Bee back down, and Sam falls with him, out of the guard's arms, and they are trying to drag him back up, and _god, _Bee, is _still _trying to _get up, get away –_

And Sam is off the floor and heading towards him in an instant, can't stand those awful _sounds_ anymore, they're _hurting Bee, whatareyoudoingleavehimalonehe'snothurtinganyoneBee!_

He feels that awful gun in his hands, yanks it, turns it back on the bastard who has _dared _use it again Bee, and then he feels his body hit the concrete as something big and heavy hits him from behind. They roll, and he comes out on bottom and is yanked up before he could get away again.

God, and it aches, because he is _so close_, he can almost reach out and _touch _–

But Bee isn't moving anymore, not at all, there aren't even those _sounds _and he's being dragged away again, and the only thing he can see beyond that unmoving yellow was that _fucking Agent Simmons_, he'd never hated anyone so much in his _life _– and he aches, for once in his life, to just _pound _on someone with his fists, wipe that smug look off that bastard's face, because Bee's _here_, but he isn't _moving_.

In the silence of the truck, Sam's body quivers in anger and fear and desperation, and he catches one last glimpse of Bee just before they start off.

And in that instant, all the fear and desperation disappear. Something in him hardens, shifted minutely, and he relaxes, lips almost twitching into a smile.

He is _going _to get his car back. And _nothing _is going to stand in his way.


End file.
